


Mega-Voodoo-Eerie-Weirdness

by flashforeward



Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Gen, Mega-Voodoo-Eerie-Weirdness, Sex Pollen, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: A series of strange, Eerie occurrences bring Dash and Marshall closer than they ever expected - or wanted - and Simon thinks he might have figured it out. Maybe. Hopefully.





	Mega-Voodoo-Eerie-Weirdness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deifire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/gifts).



It all begins on a case, because what doesn’t, really?

 

Marshall and Simon have heard rumours of kids disappearing into the Eerie Woods for days on end, then returning completely changed. New personalities the likes of which Eerie hasn’t seen since Nurse Nancy drove off laughing. There is the briefest of minutes where Marshall and Simon entertain the possibility that she’s come back, broken their hypnosis somehow and returned to seek revenge. On them or on Eerie neither is sure, but either is less than ideal.

 

Still, Marshall is certain Nurse Nancy is gone from their lives for good, and though he and Simon agree not to completely dismiss the possibility, they’re neither of them actively expecting to find her hiding out in the woods, waiting for them to come looking.

 

Still, they prepare for any possibility, adding the GM 2000s when they’re filling their bags with garlic and stakes and silver and tying warded bracelets up and down their wrists.

 

What they don’t prepare for is Dash X.

 

The Eerie Woods lies just beyond the Old Hitchcock Mill, a dark and looming presence that waits for unsuspecting trespassers to enter its shadowy embrace. And Dash X, who hasn’t found anywhere better to live, spots the semi-professional weirdness investigators from his window and lets curiosity get the better of him: where the hell are they going, laden with supplies, faces set and serious?

 

“Not you,” Marshall groans when Dash comes up beside them. “You’re not invited.”

 

“Tough,” Dash grunts out, slowing his pace to match theirs. “What’re you up to this time? Off to get yourselves killed?”

 

“No. And if we were, it’s not a spectator sport.”

 

“We’re investigating some mysterious occurrences in the Eerie Woods,” Simon says, ignoring the shushing sound Marshall makes.

 

“Guess I better come along, keep you safe.”

 

“We can take care of ourselves,” Marshall protests at that, glaring at Dash.

 

“Wasn’t talking to you, Slick,” Dash says, nodding towards Simon. “Just the kid.”

 

Marshall rolls his eyes and it’s clear he wants to keep arguing, but Simon lays a hand on his arm and he bites back his retort, blowing out a breath and storming forward, distancing himself a little ways from Dash, who hangs back with Simon. He can hear them chatting, Simon explaining the mission and their theories and what they're prepared for. He doesn’t understand why Simon tells Dash anything. Dash is definitely _not_ a trusted associate and while Simon doesn’t know just how untrustworthy (there are some attempted murders you don’t share with your ten year old associate), he should at least know better than to share sensitive information with Marshall’s archnemesis.

 

But somehow over the past several months, Dash and Simon have become friends and while Marshall doesn’t understand it he doesn’t want to discourage Simon from _making_ friends. Even if that friend is probably evil. Marshall just has to keep an eye on them, make sure that Dash doesn’t put Simon in unnecessary danger. And that Dash doesn’t cause Simon harm.

 

Crossing the boundary into the woods, Marshall pushes his other concerns from his mind. He has to focus on the mission ahead, keep his mind fully fixed on what’s to come.

 

Distraction is dangerous.

 

Behind him, he hears Simon’s chatter ebb and fade. Dash takes the younger boy’s cue and shuts up, too. _Finally_. And the three of them weave their way deeper into the reaching, creeping darkness of the shadowy trees. There’s a bit of a path, though it’s narrow and almost invisible in the underbrush. Marshall leads the way, cringing at how loud their footsteps sound, how the rustle of the leaves seems to fill the air around them.

 

Whatever they’re looking for, it probably knows they're coming.

 

The path veers sharply to the left and starts up a steep slope. Marshall’s bag feels like it weighs an extra hundred pounds as he steadily makes the climb. He can hear Simon behind him, breathing heavily, and somewhere back behind Simon he _can’t_ hear Dash. He wants to look back and see what the weird gray haired kid is up to, but he knows if he stops or slows in any way, he might not make it to the top of the hill. He keeps telling himself he’ll check after one more step.

 

One more step.

 

He crests the hill and freezes, staring at a strange clearing filled with short, gray flowers. The plants cover the hill, circled by the trees. Like a garden in the middle of the woods. With only one type of flower.

 

“Mars, what is it?” Simon asks from behind him and Marshall stutter-steps forward, into the clearing, trying not to crush any of the strange ground covering as he moves. He doesn’t know why, but it seems very important that he not harm any of these little flowers. He hears Simon’s intake of breath, knows the younger boy is staring just as much as he is, stunned by the almost otherworldly sight.

 

“It’s just a bunch of flowers,” Dash grumbles, his voice sudden and harsh in the hush. He tromps into the clearing, not caring that he’s crushing delicate petals under his clunky black boots.

 

“Dash!” Marshall cries out, starting towards him, but he knows in an instant it’s already too late. Because small gold particles float up from the flowers, dancing in the air. They’re beautiful and captivating and they seem to hover around Marshall and Dash, like they know they have an audience.

 

“Oh man,” Simon says from the edge of the clearing, but Marshall barely registers the words. He’s too distracted, too captivated.

 

By Dash X.

 

Dash licks his lips, frozen in place, watching Marshall. “Slick,” he says, raising a hand and reaching out. Marshall takes it, running his fingers slowly over the rough calluses on Dash’s palm. He slides his fingers between Dash’s, intertwining their hands and pulling himself into Dash, pressing their bodies together.

 

“Nope!” Simon shouts, shattering the quiet. His hands grip Marshall’s arm and tug him away from Dash, pulling the two apart as they’re about to kiss.

 

“Simon, stop,” Marshall says, trying to push the younger boy away. But he’s so focused on Dash he isn’t using his full strength and Simon gets between them, holding them apart with a palm on each of their chests.

 

“What the hell, Shrimp?” Dash asks.

 

“We’re getting out of this clearing,” Simon says, grabbing each of them by the arm and tugging them back towards the path. “And we’re getting out of the woods. And you two are going to sit _far away_ from each other until. Whatever this is wears off.”

 

“There’s nothing to wear off,” Marshall says.

 

“Just leave us alone,” Dash agrees.

 

“Nope,” Simon repeats, awkwardly marching them back down the path, away from the strange gray flowers and the dancing yellow pollen.

 

**

 

It isn’t Dash’s fault the UFO lands in his backyard.

 

It _is_ Dash’s fault that, instead of ignoring it or dealing with it himself or any other of a number of far superior options, he went and told the self-proclaimed Semi-Professional Weirdness Investigators.

 

Which is why he’s now standing behind the mill, glaring at the extra-terrestrial wreckage as Marshall and Simon circle it, pointing their homemade devices at it as though that’s going to tell them anything whatsoever. The ship is a strange metallic blue color that seems to shift under the moonlight. It’s shaped like a stereotypical UFO, though it doesn’t have the bump for a cockpit, just an opaque white circle interrupting the blue.

 

Dash won’t admit it to anybody, but it’s actually kind of beautiful.

 

“What time did you say it landed?” Marshall asks. Again. He’s been interrogating Dash off and on since they arrived, asking the same questions over and over like Dash is suddenly going to change his story from _This weird thing crashed in my backyard and woke me up_ to _I shot down a UFO because I am True Evil._ Maybe with some maniacal laughter thrown in.

 

“Like an hour ago,” Dash says, glancing again at the watch he'd liberated from the World O’Stuff sales rack. It was just past 4am and Dash really wanted to get back to sleep. He was regretting leaving the relative safety of his mill to knock on Marshall Teller’s window.

 

He _should_ have just ignored the damn thing. But he doesn’t trust the Powers that Be with this kind of alien technology. Marshall might be insufferable and judgmental, but at least he's not actively evil. Dash definitely can't say the same about Mayor Chisel.

 

“And you didn’t see anything? No lights going from the ground to the ship?” Mars turns his eyes on Dash, whatever read outs he’s looking for on his device forgotten in his desire to catch Dash in a lie. Behind him, Simon snaps pictures.

 

Dash shakes his head. “I told you, I was asleep,” he says again. “I heard the crash, looked out the window and saw…” he gestures to the ship.

 

Marshall looks like he’s going to say something else, definitely looks like he doesn’t believe Dash for an instant, but Simon let’s out a sharp cry, drawing both Marshall and Dash’s attention.

 

“What is it?” Marshall asks, coming up beside Simon and reaching for the pictures that have already developed.

  
But Simon shakes his head and points at the ship itself. “Something’s alive in there,” he says.

 

As if to confirm Simon’s assertion, the craft gives a hissing sound and the white section slides back, revealing a thin blue creature with entirely too many limbs.

 

“Oh wow,” Marshall breathes. He takes the camera from Simon and snaps a picture, but the flash makes the creature recoil with a pained shriek and Marshall quickly puts the camera away. “Sorry,” he says, as if a creature from another planet can understand English. “I won’t do that again. It’s just. Wow.”

 

“Are you okay?” Simon asks, kneeling down near the craft. “Is there any way we can help you?”

 

The alien doesn’t say anything, which surprises Dash not at all. He crosses his arms over his chest and considers the possibilities. “I say we sell it to the highest bidder,” he says. “That isn’t Mayor Chisel,” he adds after a moment.

 

“We’re not selling it!” Marshall retorts, whirling on Dash. “This is a living creature, not a commodity.”

 

“Anything can be a commodity,” Dash says.

 

“Don’t start,” Simon says. He’s gotten closer to the ship, is reaching for the creature. “This isn’t the time, we have to help.”

 

The creature makes a high pitched sound and one of its tentacles reaches out, wrapping around Simon’s hand.

 

“You’re so cold,” Simon says. “Are you okay?”

 

The sound shifts down to a lower register and the creature shudders.

 

Simon looks up at Marshall and Dash, eyes wide. “I think it’s dying,” he says. “We have to do something.”

 

Marshall crouches down beside Simon. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do,” he says. “We don’t have any context for its physiology and I don’t think even a vet would treat an alien without reporting to someone.”

 

“But. Mars.” Simon’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “We have to _try_ ,” he says.

 

“How exactly do you propose we do that?” Dash asks. It’s not like he wants the alien to die, but he can sell it either way. And the sooner Marshall and Simon decide it’s a lost cause and go away, the sooner Dash can start deciding who to try to deal with first.

 

“He’s right,” Marshall says. “We do have to try something.”

 

Dash rolls his eyes. “A second ago you were saying there was nothing we could do, but now you’re all about saving the alien?”

 

Marshall shoots a glare at him. “Yeah, I am,” he says. “Because Simon’s right, we can’t just let it die.”

 

“It’s probably suffocating while we sit here talking,” Dash says. “It’s from another _planet_ , even if you could fix up whatever wounds it sustained in the crash, what are the chances it can survive on this planet?”

 

“ _You_ survive on this planet.”

 

The silence that falls is thick and uncomfortable.

 

“Fine,” Dash says after a long, unpleasant moment. “Do whatever. I’m going back to bed.” He turns and starts back towards the mill, hears Marshall start to say something but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. They’re not friends, they’re barely acquaintances. Marshall doesn’t need to apologize and even if he did, Dash doesn’t have to accept it. It’s not like they’re going to stop hating each other ever.

 

“Guys,” Simon’s voice floats through the hush of the night. “Guys it’s _glowing_.”

 

Dash stops. He can’t remember why he was walking away. Marshall is behind him and he wants to be where Marshall is. He turns and walks back. Marshall’s watching him. Simon’s still holding the alien’s tentacle and the creature is, indeed, glowing.

 

But Dash’s focus is on Marshall. They’re walking towards each other now. Dash takes Marshall’s hands in his, pulls him close.

 

Distantly he hears Simon’s voice. “Not again,” the younger boy says. And then something plows into Dash, sending him tumbling to the ground. Simon is sitting on him, holding him down. “Mars, go sit by the alien,” he says.

 

Marshall doesn’t listen, sits down by Dash instead and runs his fingers through Dash’s hair.

 

Simon lets out a groan and shifts so he can push Marshall away every time he reaches for Dash. “I don’t know what you did,” he calls out. “But if you could undo it that’d be great.”

 

There’s a high pitched sound from the alien, but Dash is too busy trying to unseat Simon so he can pull Marshall into his arms, hold him, kiss him.

 

He doesn’t understand why Simon is trying to keep them apart.

 

Behind them, unseen and unnoticed, the ship sinks into the ground.

 

**

 

“It’s in the opposite direction from the flowers,” Marshall repeats, pointing out the clearing on his crudely drawn map, then dragging his finger across to a portion of what are supposed to be thick trees but just look like overzealous shading. “I promise we will go nowhere near the flowers.”

 

Simon studies the map, gnawing at his lip. “Pinky swear?” he asks, holding out his hand, pinky out. Marshall takes Simon’s pinky with his and shakes their hands and only then does Simon agree to go into the Eerie woods in search of a witch.

 

The rumor is that somewhere deep in the woods lives a witch who has been there since before Eerie was even a town. Possibly even since the beginning of time. Research materials on the subject are light and most of Marshall’s information comes from world of mouth, which comes from word of mouth. Story upon story passed down from one generation to the next until no one’s sure what’s true anymore.

 

Marshall Teller is determined to find out.

 

But first he had to convince Simon to accompany him. Since the incident with the gray flowers - which Marshall doesn’t even remember - Simon has done his damnedest to talk Marshall out of any investigations that involve going into the woods. It took him three weeks and an extra research session before Simon agreed.

 

But now, finally, _finally_ they’re going.

 

“What do you take to fight a witch?” Marshall asks, opening his backpack and emptying out what’s already in there - flasks of holy water, some stakes, a bag full of garlic, a book on basic warding sigils. He turns the book over in his hands before returning it to his bag. He figures it might come in handy.

 

“How do we know we’ll have to fight her?” Simon counters. “Why is the assumption always that whatever we’re looking for is evil?”

 

“Because it usually is,” Marshall says, keeping his voice calm and level. He and Simon have had this particular discussion a few times since Harley’s more destructive powers started to manifest. Marshall gets it, he does, but he doesn’t want to go in unprepared. “It’s not that we’re assuming she’s going to attack us,” he says. “It’s just that. We want to be ready in case she does.”

 

Simon studies Marshall for a moment and Marshall’s pretty sure the argument is going to continue, but Simon just blows out a sigh and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “But we only attack her if she attacks us, deal?”

 

“Deal,” Marshall agrees.

 

He puts the stakes back in his bag. Witches and Vampires aren’t the same, of course, but he figures a stake the heart will slow anything down.

 

**

 

The woods loom before them, dark and forbidding. So many secrets lie within those trees, hidden away, just waiting for the right person to go looking. And Marshall Teller is determined to be the right person. He wants to know all of Eerie’s secrets, uncover everything the town is hiding.

 

He pulls in a breath and hikes his backpack higher on his shoulders. “You ready?” he asks, looking over at Simon.

 

Simon gives a sharp nod. “I was born for this,” he says, patting the camera hanging around his neck.

 

Marshall takes the lead, pushing through the undergrowth into the woods. They’re on the small almost-path they took a few months back that led to the flower clearing, and Marshall keeps his eyes open for an offshooting path that will lead in the right direction, but there doesn’t seem to be one. “I think we’ll have to make our own path,” he says when he’s certain there’s not even the hint of one going towards what should be the witch’s house.

 

“That’s a good way to get lost,” Simon says, sounding uncertain.

 

“We’ll mark the path,” Marshall assures him, pulling a piece of chalk from his pocket. He draws an X on the tree next to him, then pushes through the branches, leading them off the path and deeper into the woods. Marshall clearly marks trees as they pass, adding an arrow when they have to turn.

 

He is absolutely not getting them stuck in here.

 

“How much longer, Mars?” Simon asks what feels like hours later. The canopy above them is so thick barely any natural light gets through and they both have their flashlights on. Marshall turns, shining his on his watch. It’s only been thirty minutes since they entered the woods. He tilts his wrist so Simon can see and can’t help but sympathise with the younger boy’s groan of frustration. “Maybe there’s nothing to find?” he asks after a moment. “It was just a rumor, after all.”

 

“I want to look for a little while longer,” Marshall says. “We can’t have come very far, not in half an hour. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

 

Simon gnaws at his lip, looks away.

 

“Simon?”

 

“The Eerie Woods never end,” Simon says quietly. “They look finite from the outside, but once you’re in the trees you could walk for days and never find the other side.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

“It’s Eerie.” Simon shrugs. “We can look a little longer, but. We’ll never search the entirety.”

 

Marshall shakes his head. “How do you know?” he asks.

 

“Everybody does.”

 

Marshall sighs. It’s one of those facts of Eerie that never really come up. Everyone who lives there just knows andy anyone who’s moved there never asks. It never occured to Marshall to consider that the woods themselves would have something weird about them, and he silently berates himself for taking that for grated. This is the center of weirdness for the entire planet, of course even the woods aren’t normal.

 

“We’ll go a little further,” Marshall says. “Maybe fifteen more minutes? And then we’ll turn back.”

 

“Have to get home in time for Swedish Chicken,” Simon says, grinning.

 

Marshall laughs and nods his agreement before he turns back around. He looks at the tree ahead of him and his heart sinks. There’s no chalk mark, but he knows he put one there. He looks at each of the trees closest to him, but none are marked. “Simon,” he says. “Look for the chalk marks.”

 

“Oh man,” Simon says after a moment.

 

Marshall groans. “I’m such an idiot,” he says. “I should have known marking the trail wouldn’t work in here!”

 

“How are we gonna get out?”

 

“I don’t know.” Marshall keeps his eyes moving, looking all around them, trying to find some hint as to where they’ve come from - broken branches, trampled undergrowth - but the woods around them look pristine and untouched. Like they just materialized where they’re standing.

 

“Maybe if we find the witch, she’ll be able to help us get home?”

 

Marshall sighs. “It’s worth a shot.” He starts forward, hoping he’s continuing in the direction they were going in the first place.

 

**.

 

The cottage is so overgrown, Marshall almost misses it. It’s like it grew where it stands, a part of the forest. When he realizes what they’re walking towards, he comes to an abrupt halt and stares. It’s a low wooden house standing among looming trees. There’s no yard to speak of, the forest around it is untouched. The only sign of life is a small dirt path that leads up to the door. Marshall swallows hard and starts up the path, hoping this isn’t a terrible idea.

 

He raises his fist and knocks.

 

Behind him, Simon is clinging to his sweatshirt.

 

The knock seems to echo through the woods. The birdsong and the rustling of animals ceases and an unnatural hush falls over them. Simon presses closer to Marshall, whispering _oh man oh man oh man_ over and over. It isn’t really helping Marshall’s nerves, but he can’t fault Simon his worry, so he doesn’t shush him or push him away.

 

No one answers the door.

 

Marshall starts to relax. “No one’s home,” he says. But just as the words leave his mouth, the door swings open on a dark room. There’s no one there, at least no one that Marshall can see, but he hears humming.

 

“Hello?” he calls out, starting forward. He stands in the doorway, trying to see in the darkness before him, looking for someone. Anyone. “My friend and I got lost, we just need to know the way out of the woods. Can you help us?” He’s not sure he should be telling whoever is in there that they’re lost, but they don’t have a lot of other options. “Hello?” he calls again. “Can you help us?”

 

The humming stops. The sudden silence feels uncomfortable and anticipatory.

 

A low voice says, “You woke me up.”

 

“I’m very sorry,” Marshall says, and he means it. “We thought we could find our way back but we got turned around and we can’t find the path.”

 

“You shouldn’t have left it,” the voice says.

 

“I know. We know. We just. We were looking for someone.”

 

“I know.” A face looms up out of the darkness, pale with pointed features, rushing towards them. Marshall stumbles back, sending Simon toppling to the ground. The witch stands in the doorway, leering down at them, grinning. “You were looking for me,” she says. “Well, you’ve found me. And I say again, you woke me up.”

 

“I really am sorry,” Marshall manages, his voice hoarse and shaky. He reaches down to help Simon up, but keeps his gaze fixed on the witch.

 

She looks undead. Her eyes are sunken, her cheekbones so pronounced there may as well be no skin covering them. Her teeth are jagged and crooked, sharp like needles. Marshall wants to get as far away from her as possible, but she’s they’re only hope of getting out of here.

 

“You’re not,” she says. “He is,” she gestures at Simon, then meets Marshall’s gaze. “But you’re not.”

 

“I. I really am-”

 

“No. But you will be.”

 

She snaps her fingers and there’s darkness.

 

**

 

Marshall groans. He doesn’t remember his bed being this uncomfortable. The thought brings memories flooding back and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, certain that if he opens them he’ll find that he and Simon are prisoners in the witch’s strange little house.

  
But ignoring it won’t fix anything.

 

He forces his eyes open and stares up at a familiar ceiling. It isn’t his bedroom, isn’t even his house, and he doesn’t want to believe it. “What the hell?” he asks, cringing at how rough his voice sounds. He sits up, looking around him at the mill. What’s he doing _here_? Did Dash rescue them from the witch? It isn’t likely, considering Dash doesn’t really do rescuing unless there’s something in it for him, but it’s the only explanation Marshall can think of.

 

He looks down at his hands in his lap and freezes. Those aren’t his hands. The familiar plus and minus sign stare up at him, dark against the pale skin. “No,” he whispers, that same rough voice.

 

Dash’s voice.

 

“Oh, no.”

 

If he’s here, in the mill, in Dash’s body, then where the hell is Dash?

 

**

 

This, Dash X decides, is the life.

 

A house with heating, his own bed, food whenever he’s hungry. It’s _great_.

 

He could do without the parents who actually care where he is and when, but he’ll adapt. He’s good at that.

 

When he’d first woken up in Teller’s bed, in Teller’s body, he’d been a little concerned. He’d wondered what exactly Slick and his sidekick had gotten into this time and why it was affecting Dash’s life. They could go off and mess with forces they didn’t understand all they wanted, as long as they left him out of it. So he was, understandably, annoyed.

 

At first.

 

The annoyance wore off quickly and now he’s content to enjoy Marshall’s life while it lasts. It’s been two days and while there are things about being himself Dash does miss, the positives so far outweigh the negatives. There are a lot of things he doesn’t have to worry about now that he’s not a homeless amnesiac living in an abandoned mill. There are new things to worry about, like nosy parents and curfews, but he’s sure he’ll get used to it.

 

If he has to get used to it.

 

He supposes he should go to the mill and actually ask Teller what the hell is going on. Simon’s been over and while he knows something isn’t right with Marshall, if he's guessed outright that it’s Dash in there instead of his best friend, he hasn't said anything. Dash doesn’t want to tip his hand too early, so he hasn’t asked Simon if he knows what’s going on. He’s trying to get information without giving away too much, though it’s hard when he doesn’t know whatever Marshall is supposed to know.

 

It’s very confusing, being someone else.

 

Back with Charles and Eunice, at least everyone had been getting their brains zapped left and right. This time it’s just him and Marshall and no one else knows about it.

 

At least, he assumes Marshall’s living his life.

 

He chuckles at the thought. Let him see what it’s like for once, being stuck on the outside. Stealing to live, scheming to survive.

 

The doorbell rings and Dash sighs and grabs Marshall’s Giants sweatshirt from where it lives on the end of the bed. He pulls it on over his t-shirt, the final step in getting dressed for Marshall Teller.

 

“Mars!” Mrs. Teller calls up the stairs. “Your friend is here! The one with the gray hair!”

 

Dash groans. “I’ll be right there, mom!” he replies. It was hard to get used to calling Marilyn _mom_ , and he still stumbles over it sometimes. Having a mom isn’t something he thought he’d ever get to experience. And even if it’s all over after this, he’s glad he got to find out what it was like.

 

“He says he’ll just come up!” Marilyn yells back.

 

Dash groans again, but he pulls the door open and paces back to sit on the edge of Marshall’s bed. If this confrontation is going to happen here and now, he may as well be comfortable.

 

It’s weird to see himself walk through the door. He’d almost expected another Marshall to come storming in and has to fight to keep the surprise off his face when his own familiar form walks in, fists clenched at his side and glare fixed on Dash.

 

“What did you do?” Marshall demands.

 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dash crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “I think this is probably something you did, Slick.”

 

“I wouldn’t swap bodies with you!”

 

“And I’d swap with you?” Dash scoffed. “Sure you have a cushy life, but it’s pretty suffocating after being free for so long.”

 

“This is free? Everyone hates me, I can’t go into a store without getting glared at and when I try to leave I get patted down, Mr. Radford won’t speak to me, the mill doesn’t have heat and you need a new sleeping bag and…” he trails off, meeting Dash’s gaze. “Oh,” he says, voice suddenly quiet. “I think. I think I get it now.”

 

“Whatever _it_ is, I don’t want to know,” Dash says. He stands. “Did you come here so we can fix this?” he asks. “Or did you just want to tell me how much my life sucks?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dash,” Marshall Teller says in the gruff, raspy voice of Dash X.

 

Dash fidgets with the sleeves of his sweatshirt and doesn’t meet Marshall’s eye. “Yeah, well. Nobody asked you anyway,” he says.

 

They stand in silence, neither looking at the other. Dash considers throwing Marshall out. Marshall has done it to him enough times, it’d be satisfying to turn the tables. But. He guesses he can put his pettiness aside. For now.

 

“I suppose you want your body back,” he says.

 

“Yeah. But I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t even know how we switched.”

 

Dash sighs. “Why am I not surprised?” he asks. He paces out of the room and grabs the hall phone, punching in Simon’s number. “Sit down, we’ll get this figured out,” he says.

 

**

 

When Simon comes over and they tell him what happened, he isn’t surprised.

 

“Yeah,” he says after Dash tells him he’s Dash and the person in his body is Marshall. “I knew that. Was there something else?”

 

Simon and Marshall go over their experience in the woods and everything they can remember with the witch. It doesn’t really give any clues for how to fix this, but it does at least seem to explain how it happened in the first place.

 

“So how are you bozos gonna fix this?” Dash asks.

 

“I think,” Marshall says, quietly and calmly, “that we have to go see the witch again.”

 

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t want to go back in the woods, Mars. First those flowers then the UFO, then the witch,” he shakes his head again. “It’s not worth it. Nothing good happens in or around the Eerie Woods.”

 

“Putting our brains back where they belong is definitely worth it, Simon,” Marshall counters. “Besides, we know what to expect now.”

 

“Do we?” Dash asks. “Do you ever know what to expect, Slick? You just blunder into situations and hope you don’t die and nine times out of ten _I_ have to bail you out.”

 

“Yeah, and the other time, you’re the one trying to murderize me!” Marshall snaps.

 

“What?”

 

Simon’s voice is icy, cold and emotionless in a way neither Dash nor Marshall has ever heard before. It washes over them both, sudden and strange. Dash replays the argument, trying to pinpoint exactly what had caught Simon’s attention and anger. Marshall, for his part, looks almost sheepish. It’s a strange expression on Dash’s face, he’s not sure he likes it.

 

No. Scratch that. He’s sure he _doesn’t_ like it.

 

“Marshall, what are you talking about?” Simon asks. “When did Dash try to murderize you?”

 

Dash grins as he realizes what this means and he has to bite back a mocking laugh. “You didn’t tell him?” he asks. “I thought you told Shrimpenstein everything!”

 

“It wasn’t relevant,” Marshall grumbles, sounding more like Dash than he has all afternoon.

 

“Not relevant?” Simon shouts, making both Dash and Marshall jump. “Not relevant? Someone trying to murder my best friend is _always_ relevant, Mars!” He stands, fists clenched at his side, and glares down at Marshall. Dash fails to suppress a snort of amusement and Simon turns his glare on Dash. “And you! What were you thinking?”

 

Dash holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m just looking out for number one, not my fault Slick likes to get in the way.”

 

Simon turns his head back and forth, looking from Dash to Marshall and back again, the scowl looking out of place on his face. “After we fix this,” he says, pointing at Dash and then at Marshall, “we are going to sit down and you are both going to explain what the hell happened. And why you didn’t tell me before.”

 

Marshall doesn’t meet Simon’s eye as he mumbles an “Of course.”

 

Dash rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever, can we just get our bodies back?” he asks. He figures he’ll just discreetly wander off when the conversation turns towards what happened that day on the NBC lot. He doesn’t want Simon to hate him, for some bizarre reason, but he knows once Marshall gets done with the story he will and Dash figures the next best thing is not being around when Simon does start hating him.

 

**

 

The only plan Marshall and Simon can come up with is to go back to the witch’s hut.

 

“She’s the one who did this, so she’s the only one who can fix it,” Marshall explains. Again.

 

Dash shakes his head. “From what you told me, she did it because you bothered her in the first place,” he says. “I don’t want to find out what she does if we bother her _again_.”

 

“Then how do you propose we reverse this?”

 

“Why do I have to figure it out? It’s your fault, you fix it!”

 

“Can the two of you go one minute without arguing?” Simon’s patience with both Marshall and Dash is lower than usual and he’s quick to snap at them when they start to go at each other. Which means he’s been snapping at them a lot. “We’ve gone over everything numerous times, we need to make a decision. We can’t just leave you the way you are.”

 

“Why not?” Dash asks. “Seems all right to me.”

 

“You aren’t ruining my life any more than you already have,” Marshall counters.

 

“What you mean is you can’t handle living my life.”

 

“That’s not. I didn’t.”

 

“Shut up!” Simon shouts. He steps between them. “This month I have had to listen to the two of you fight, I’ve had to separate you two when Eerie weirdness tried to make you want each other, and now I have to remind myself that you’re in each others bodies _and_ listen to you fight. I’m sick of it. You two need to make a truce and shut up or we are never going to get through this.”

 

Marshall and Dash both fall silent, neither meeting the other’s gaze and both pointedly not looking at Simon.

 

“Sorry, Simon,” Marshall says after a moment, eyes flicking up to Simon, then back down to his hands in his lap.

 

Simon nods. He glances at Dash, but he isn’t surprised when Dash doesn’t say anything. He lets himself enjoy the quiet for a moment before pulling Marshall’s crude Eerie Woods map from his back pocket and laying it flat on Marshall’s desk. “Okay,” he says. “This is where the flowers are,” he says, pointing to the empty circle that represents the clearing. “We went the opposite direction from them to find the witch, which puts her somewhere in here.” He shifts his finger so he’s pointing at the smudge of trees. “The UFO was about here,” he adds, pointing to a spot about halfway between the mill and the woods.”

 

“Why do we need to know all that?” Dash asks. “Isn’t this all because of the witch?”

 

“I think so,” Simon says. “But I don’t just mean your current predicament. I mean all of it. The flowers, the alien. That witch has been specifically targeting you and Mars, and I’d like to know why.”

 

Neither Dash nor Marshall has anything to say to that. If Simon is right, _they_ want to know the answer, too.

 

But a small part of Simon kind of hopes he’s wrong.

 

**

 

“This is a terrible plan,” Dash repeats. He’s said it every few minutes since they entered the woods. Simon’s given up on telling him to stop and Marshall seems to be erring on the side of not talking to Dash, for which Simon is grateful - if they can’t talk without arguing, he’d rather they just not talk. Still, it’s frustrating to have Dash say the same thing every few steps, and part of Simon wonders if Dash’s negativity will have an effect on the outcome.

 

Unlikely in most scenarios, but this is Eerie _and_ the woods. So it’s a possibility.

 

“Dash will you please stop,” Simon calls back to him. He’s leading the way through the brush and the trees, Marshall’s bringing up the rear with Dash between them. Neither Marshall nor Simon remembers exactly which direction they went to find the witch’s house, but as long as they’re not going towards the flower clearing, SImon thinks they’ll be okay. And after their first experience at the cottage, he also thinks it will be better for everyone concerned if Simon approaches first this time.

 

He doesn’t _want_ to, but he also doesn’t want something even worse to happen to Marshall and Dash.

 

Though maybe he’ll change his mind once they’ve told him about this whole murderizing thing…

 

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, whatever happened in the past, it doesn’t change the fact that Mars and Dash are his friends and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to them. Again.

 

Simon hears Dash’s breath catch when they come up on the cottage, giving him a sense of d _éjà vu_ \- Marshall had done the exact same thing the first time. It’s strange to think that even Dash X is awed by the sight before them, this house that is clearly part of the wood, grown in the forest as it is, barely touched by man.

 

This time, the witch is already standing outside her door when the three stop before her.

 

Simon squares his shoulders and meets her gaze. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks.

 

The witch gives a slight nod.

 

“Why?” Marshall demands, pressing past Dash and glaring up at the witch. He looks more like Dash now than he has this whole time.

 

The witch tuts. “Do you have any idea how much negative energy you two put into the universe?” she asks. “I was _hoping_ I could get you to put out more positive energy, but when that didn’t work, I thought maybe if you could live as each other for awhile you’d learn on your own.” She sighed. “Guess I overestimated you.”

 

“Can you put them back?” Simon asks. “I can’t promise their energy will be less, uh, negative, but. Well. I think this might be making it worse.”

 

“It is,” the witch says. “Which I didn’t anticipate. You two are very angry, did you know that? Especially at each other.”

 

“Oh they know,” Simon says. He catches Marshall’s sheepish look - an odd sight on Dash’s face - and shrugs in response. It’s true.

 

“All right, all right,” the witch claps her hands. “Walk the path back to your home, and once again your mind you’ll know.”

 

“What’s that supposed-” Dash starts, but stops when the witch’s house disappears, replaced by a clear path. It’s wider than the one to the flowers, a properly maintained path, man made for hikers. Something Simon is pretty sure has never existed in the Eerie woods before, and likely won’t again.

 

Together, they walk down the path, following its winding progress through the trees. When they emerge in the late afternoon light, Simon turns around and looks from Marshall to Dash and back. “So, which is who?” he asks.

 

“I’m me again,” Dash says, his voice as gravelly as ever. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his long black coat and starts towards the mill.

 

“Hey!” Simon calls. “We still have to talk about the murdering!”

 

“Slick’ll give you the details,” Dash calls back.

 

Simon and Marshall stand quietly for awhile, awkward together for the first time since their friendship started. “I’m sorry,” Marshall finally says.

 

Simon shrugs. “It’s not your fault.”

 

“It is, though,” Marshall says. “What the witch said? About being negative. And with Dash. I never give him a chance. Even before that...thing I promise I’ll tell you about. I never trusted him.”

 

“You didn’t know him.”

 

“I never tried.”

 

Marshall scuffs his toe in the dirt and looks over his shoulder at the woods, then looks ahead to the mill. “Hey, Simon,” he says. “D’you think my mom would notice another perpetual house guest?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Marshall chuckled. “Do you think she’d mind?”

 

“No. But. Do you trust him?”

 

Marshall shrugs. “No. And he doesn’t trust me, so it’s a moot point but.” He turns and meets Simon’s gaze. “Let’s go to the World O’Stuff. Dash needs some supplies.”

 

“He won’t accept them.”

 

“He will if they appear mysteriously sans note.”

 

Simon chuckles as he and Marshall start off towards town. “You still have to tell me about the murderizing,” he says.

 

Marshall throws an arm around his shoulder. “I will,” he says. “When Dash is ready. I have a feeling there’s more to that story than either of us know, and maybe if we put both halves together we’ll get closer to the whole.”


End file.
